Category: Kerala

Kerala: Backwaters and Beyond

It was the first week of monsoons in Kerala. The distinctive muddy scent of first rain had faded and given way to an imagery of vivid greens all around, which had started dominating my tired senses. Already 20 days into my travel, I was exhausted and a bit disappointed. But I ended up jaunting across the beautiful backwaters of Kerala. I was a bit frugal, a bit naughty, and a bit too easy on time. But in the end I was refreshed and ready for what lay ahead.

I was hosted at Kochi by my friend from college. After an evening which involved engaging conversations on Krishnadevraya and Southern dynasties over a few beers and banana wafers, I packed my bags and accompanied him next morning on his sales field visit to Kottayam. I had tweaked my itinerary a bit, as I had a sudden urge to revisit the backwaters of Kumarakom and Alleppy.

We stopped on the way and stuffed ourselves with some lovely appam and stew. I told to myself for the n^th time, the vegetarian food in Kerala is so underrated.

Appam and Stew at some place between Kochi and Kottayam

My friend dropped me around 11 AM at the main square of Kottayam. The streets were busy, but still carried a eerie sense of calm, something so omnipresent in Kerala. Men jostled around wrapping their mundus almost flawlessly, women moved around hurriedly in semi-crisp saris with their long hair, oiled, slightly frizzled, and clawed perfectly in middle. People had a strong sheen on their body and face. Probably it was the high humidity levels, or it was the excess coconut oil dripping, or perhaps being in the literary capital of Kerala, the seat of Malayama Manorama and the first city with 100% literacy, it was the shine of knowledge.

I walked towards a bakery. A bakery is Kerala is much more than a mere bakery. Although one can’t beat their puffs or Sharjah milk shakes, bakeries represent much more than selling baked goods and a joint for leisure-time snacking. It’s a place for breakfast, for buying household items and groceries, a strong PoS for multinational consumer goods companies, a place which a working father visits every evening post work to buy sweets for his kids, and a place where retired folks execute their Kerala version of a Bengali adda.

I couldn’t resist having an egg puff and a Sharjah. The former a beautiful combination of boiled egg with caramelized onions inside a layered pastry, the latter a banana, dates, Horlicks-infused milkshake which will make you forget even our worst losses to Pakistan at Sharjah. Ok, probably not the Miandad sixer one.

I inquired about the bus to Kumarakom village and was immediately directed towards one across the road. I took the bus and got a comfortable seat. While I was busy clearing the small flaky remains of a thoroughly enjoyed egg puff of my t-shirt, I was shrugged off by a set of ladies to vacate the seat. I got up politely and then got lost in a series of nonsensical thoughts for rest of the 10-12 km journey.

I got down at Kumarakom town, just another one in the rather continuous series of never ending cities and towns in Kerala. Being densely populated, the state has evolved as series of habitations, in sharp contrast to the open agricultural spaces one is used to seeing across other parts of India. I strolled towards another bakery, sipped a tea, inquired a bit about the locality, and started walking.

The road towards Vemabanad lake slowly unravelled itself, the scenery evolved from a small residential town to a leading holiday destination, as the resorts grew in both number as well as size. Being a tourist-lean season one couldn’t see much activity around. I was now in desperate need of a conversation to drive my day forward, and so I entered one resort. And what followed was never planned for, it just happened.

Somewhere in Kumarakom

I got a salute from the security guard, and a lot of steps later, a smile from the receptionist. I introduced myself as a HR of famous IT company, in search for good resort for my middle management outbound of around 150 people. Smile changed into happiness, it was like this rainfall after a tough hot summer, like a weekend after a tough week of work, or quite simply, the feeling of selling some rooms in the off-peak season.

Suddenly I saw activity all around me, staff started moving around, a Manager was called for, I was asked what would I like to drink, to which I quite egoistically replied, something alcoholic. I was handed over quite a neat menu, of which I happily picked up a Pinacolada.

In the mean time the manager came up, quite visibly just up from sleep. He started asking for my requirements which I kept generating on the fly. He then gave me tour of the resort, from the spa and pool, to the gardens and business centres. What caught my eye was the beautiful Vemabanad, what caught my ears the sound of raindrops plopping on the lake, what caught my nose was smell of freshness. Sorry, but the manager was just pure noise.

I spent sometime and then bid goodbye with the promise of sending them the plan. I had been a bit naughty today, but given the long trip, I think I deserved some pampering.

As soon as I left the resort and started walking towards the jetty, there was a sudden gush of rainfall. Initially I couldn’t find any shelter, but then a small home cum kirana store in between a sort of a plantation came to rescue. Aunty running the store offered me a cigarette, but I pleaded for a tea. Semi-wet and slightly shivery, I cupped the warm steel glass of tea tightly. There were a few duplicate Parle-G’s to dip, beautiful sound of the rainfall hitting the banana trees in the their plantation, and some sweet noise of the aunty chattering in Malayalam.

I thanked aunty for the tea, made payments which she refused to take. I offered to buy out her entire stock of cream biscuits (10-12 packs), to which she gleefully agreed. I got a pat on the back, some sweet chatter, and oodles of smile as a farewell gift.

I walked towards the Jetty, the sun had come out again, but clouds still lingered on waiting for the right moment to strike. I boarded the ferry to Muhamma Jetty. More than a year back I had paid INR 12,000 for browsing this lake on a houseboat, today I paid INR 12!

I distributed few biscuits on board. There were school kids, office goers, men and women on just another journey. Water transport is so unique for an outsider, so normal for a Keralaite, and its effective too. Infact the public transport system in Kerala is one of the best in the country. The journey went for around 35-40 mins. It was peaceful, with Vemabanad silently playing with clouds, people on board mostly in an afternoon siesta mode, broken by the clicking sound of my camera, and the persistent buzz of the boat. As soon as I reached Muhamma, it started raining again. I rushed for the bus stop and caught a bus to Alleppy.

Leaving Kumarakom Jetty

Clouds vs. Vembanad

Somewhere before Muhamma

Alleppy or Alappuzha is often compared to Venice, the entire area is a well connected network of canals leading to backwaters. The city was preparing for the upcoming Nehru Cup (Annual Snakeboat racing event), and there were 100s of posters all over the place. From politicians, to film stars, to jewelry brands. Vijay’s Jos Alukkas looked like a clear winner in terms of promotion, beating Mohan Lal’s Malabar Gold by a significant margin. I landed at Mullackal Road which seemed like the city center. Markets were busy selling bright and colorful stuff, things looked pretty chaotic. I had a sudden realization that I was still to have a full meal since morning. I consulted the traffic police guy, and suggested me KreamKorner.

I opted for a Sadya, and asked for additional egg curry on the side. The usual suspects- boiled rice, sambhar, rasam, and avial were present. The Kaalan (kadhi like preparation) and payasam were perfect. Egg curry was a bit of a disappointment, but combined with the papad and some lovely sun-dried stuffed chilies I washed down couple of heaps of rice. I walked out of the place- content, happy, and full.

Sadya at Kreamkorner

A short walk, followed by a bus ride brought me back to Muhamma. In between I had picked up a couple of cans of beer for company, both poking out of my pockets, demanding attention. As I waited for the ferry at Muhamma (which it seems was delayed quite a bit) an uncle pointed out that the can was about to fall. I asked him whether he would like to have one? His agreement to this suggestion was reflected by a toothless smile. Both of us turned our backs towards other people, sat down and enjoyed our beers. I was looking at this:

At Muhamma Jetty

Did I feel better now? Certainly. Will I do something like this again? Definitely.

Ok, probably no more of that HR roleplay.

Tried out Tripline, pretty good tool to animate maps. Here is a summary of my trip

http://www.tripline.net/api/tripviewer.swf

June 22, 2013
Recalling Indian Coffee House

I am a frequent visitor to the multiple coffee shops in Mumbai. During these visits I have developed a special affection for the filter coffee joints at Matunga, and a growing admiration for the multiple homegrown and international brands setting shop in the city. But for me, and many more like me, coffee had humble beginnings. Sometime it was the whisked, often cardamom-flavored home made Nescafe, or the shake-shake-shake blue plastic shaker mixed cold coffee, or the tongue-tingling espresso served at weddings. But none of the experiences have left a deeper impression on my memory than the turban-clad waiters of the Indian Coffee House. And more than the Coffee, this note is about the institution which will always remind me of the word Coffee.

Indian Coffee House or ICH are restaurants run by a set of co-operative societies across the country with strong presence across Kerala, Madhya Pradesh, Chhattisgarh, and some other cities including Bangalore, Kolkata and Shimla. They have their origins in the Coffee Board of India, and were the first proponents of the coffee-promotion movement some 60 odd years back. Apart from the Coffee they serve, their menu also includes breakfast snacks, primarily South Indian, eggs made in different styles, cutlets, their unique version of Chana-bhaturas, with some branches even serving the full meal. They also have a catering business spawning majorly Public Sector Enterprises.

Indian Coffee House at NTPC Township, Korba

As a child growing up in a small Chhattisgarh township in Korba, ICH was the epitome of having a good time. In those days when eating out was a rarity and swallowing fizzy drinks a luxury, ICH was a break from the routine, one of the only ways of us spending some money on pampering ourselves. It was a destination for family dinners and get-togethers, for some memorable birthday treats, and the best place for watching the annual ritual of township Dusshera celebration (it was mighty difficult to get a good spot, but a Gold Spot did come to rescue).

Drawing from the words of my childhood friend, there was and always will be a certain charm about ICH. I might expect some of the younger kids to go in and find the place a bit morose by coffee shop standards, but then perceptions of all things which I fancied as a kid has changed.

At ICH the dishes were served on thick china plates, something we were not used to at home. The waiters moved around in a quick orderly fashion, with the right hand carrying the serving tray, exactly raised to shoulder length. Their walking was accompanied with a clinging sound of shiny Salem steel cutlery hitting the china. We also learned our first lessons of slightly alien-table manners (using cutlery- knife and fork, wiping hands using tissues), although I personally never got a hang of it. I am still not comfortable eating that way. The glasses reminded me of a curved conical frustum, something which we did come to haunt us during our X^th board Mathematics examination.

The interiors were mostly dull with the only striking colors noticed on the ribbon stripes of turbans wore by waiters. I could never figure out the color coding though, it was green for some, and maroon for others, with a rare occurrence of navy blue. The smell of Sambhar dominated the air, pleasantly interrupted by the fragrant whiff of Khus from the Water Cooler and the scent of freshly brewed Filter Coffee from the kitchen. Add to that the wonderful sound of forks and spoons hitting the cutlery while eating and ICH ruled all our senses.

But the sense of taste was never undermined. All variants of Dosa were served fresh and crisp, and yes you could always ask the waiter uncle to make it extra crispy. The Chutney was more daal than coconut kinds, and the sambhar had a majority share of pumpkins and drumsticks. The Wadas were crisp, Idilis soft, Omelets as trustworthy as ever, French Toasts unique, and Cutlets delightful with those chunky pieces of beetroot and carrot. Rs. 14 could buy you a Masala Dosa, Rs. 16 a Special Masala Dosa (with two pieces of cashew nuts in the masala to make it special), Rs. 12 a plate of Idli, and Rs. 6 a filter coffee (this must be the rates in the mid 90s I guess). And yes the Coffee was a delight. I was introduced to the magic of Filter Coffee here, for which I would be forever indebted to ICH.

I have faint memories of dessert too, they kept Dinshaw’s Ice Cream (a Nagpur based brand prevalent in Central India), a kitchen-made Vanilla Ice-Cream (frozen custard, topped with Fruits). The Lassi Ice-Cream combo was good too.

And when the meal ended, the bill was always brought to you neatly tucked in a pile of saunf. Tips if any were all stuffed in a common piggy bank kept on the manager’s desk.

Indian Coffee House at The Mall, Shimla

Over the years I have got a chance to visit Indian Coffee House across various cities. Delhi’s ICH is at Connaught Place is now a poor cousin of the much popular United Coffee House (not related to the society) and is not in a good shape, and Shimla’s ICH is a place dominated by Lawyers and Government Officers at the Mall which does give it a very true to the ICH feel (there is a new one at Kasumpti now, very dull though). ICH’s across Kerala are the busiest, with people from all age groups coming in for a Coffee and a Cutlet (Beef Cutlets were visibly selling more), and the Bangalore one has been relocated to a neat and new location on Church Street from MG Road post the Metro construction. But it is MP and Chhattisgarh which have kept the institution running outside Kerala in a well spread out and popular manner. I do want to visit the ICHs across Kolkata though, have heard they still retain the old world ICH Charm.

I am scared that like all things good, ICH will cease to exist in a few years from now. So what is the place of an age-old institution with socialist roots in the new India with chic cafes and upmarket restaurants?

Their place is sealed in my memories, forever.

With inputs from Amey.

February 10, 2013
So who wants to join me in Kerala :)

While I was on travel last month I came across a travel writing contest being organized by Mystikal Holidays, a Kerala based travel firm. I was in Shimla and wrote a small note on it.

You can read the note here.

So I have won couple of days at this good looking place at Kovalam (Uday Samudra Beach Resort). So who wants to join me in Kerala :)???

August 18, 2012
Ahhh… we won it!?

It was a weird feeling, a never before kind of experience, roaming around near Shivaji Park at night, thousands of people of all kinds on street. I think it was their presence on streets, rather than of actually watching it on TV, or talking to a 100 friends on phone, or messaging a thousand, or going through all those updates on facebook, or those ever so vocal news channels which made me believe. Did we win it for sure?

Infact what happened felt more like a dream for a considerable period of time. It started when we were floating in the beautiful surroundings of Kerala, and while attending my friend’s wedding we missed the Bangladesh one. But that was supposed to be won, no major worries there.

Then came my Bangalore trip, and watching one of the most amazing matches of the world cup at Chennaswamy, with one of the biggest cricket fan I know (my school friend who watches blind cricket and also followed all the ICL matches), and 2 mahaan DAIICTians whose love for cricket is unparalleled. Sitting between them I was the most pessimistic one during the match. But the dream went on, Sachin had scored a century, and for a moment I actually thought this is it. Now I would be able to tell my kids that I saw Sachin make a World Cup century, that I could jump of the Chennaswamy stand and still float in air, and that the food at cricket stadiums sucks.

Then there was the South African encounter with the person with whom I had scene the ever so forgettable India Bangladesh encounter in 2007. We tried to not do anything we had done that day, still we lost.

Then there were the minnows, simple boring encounters where Yuvraj was having fun and generally I was getting bored.

Holi came and also came with it the West Indies encounter. We were beyond repair that day, and for the entire day I just saw weird visualizations of a cricket match, by the end of it I just knew. We had won. Australia they were saying was up next. Australia. Scared.

The next three encounters can easily be the three best days of every Indian’s life. The pessimistic me gave hope when Dhoni got out, only to catch a glimpse of the match Filmy style on roads with crowd as I walked back from office to home. By the time I was home Raina was hitting Lee out of the park. We had won. Still it was difficult to digest all this, now it was happening a bit too quick.

Pakistan it was, and I was nervous. Very very nervous. I had a meeting till 1 AM a day before, went back home, came to office at 8 AM, did all the follow-up and basically immersed myself in too much work so that I don’t think of the match. In between 100s of options of watching it here or there, it was going to be the huge office screen where I would watch it. And when Umar Gul started running in towards Sehwag, I was shivering. It was just too much tension. Sachin’s scratchy knock, Pakistan’s pathetic fielding, Umar Gul being thankfully off colour, and awesomest bowling by Ajmal stood out. By far a much more superior side than us in terms of bowling. After Hafeez got out playing a very very stupid shout I knew we will win it, till Umran Akmal (whom I think will become the next Pak captain, anyone who survives for 2-3 years becomes the captain there, anyway, awesome player) started smashing us but somehow finally despite Misbah last minute hitting it was comfortably won.

And then there was the Final, so much has been written about it already, but I felt Jayawardane’s knock was truly amazing. Low risk high return innings, especially one shot he played from outside the off stump towards fine leg was truly amazing. Gambhir and Dhoni were really good on the night. And we ended up burning tonnes of aggarbattis to satisfy our superstitious selfs.

So this World Cup ended, and I was truly happy, but still it was much different from the 1996 one. We were kids back then, there were not many Deepikas and Katrinas in the stand, we could see cricketers though, we were never bleeding blue, our blood was red back then, we discussed cricket, we discussed the stats, never the number of drinks which we had in each game, people always thought of cricket as a family affair, never a reason to party and so many things.

But we used to, we still, and we will always discuss Sachin.

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

What are your memories of Cricket World Cup 2011?

————————————————————————————————————————————————–

April 24, 2011